In Your Hands
by lily moonlight
Summary: Waking up in the middle of a corridor in the lab, Mac realises something is very wrong. But why will no one tell him what has happened, and where is Stella? Mystery, drama & maybe even a little romance. Mac/Stella, hints of DL. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY. **

**Author**** Lily Moonlight**

**Notes**** A two part story - mystery, drama and romance - written especially for ****_Blue Shadowdancer_; to encourage her gently and kindly to update things, and thank her for putting up with my nagging :D **

**Thanks to _Queen Em _for helping with an early draft_, _and _cmaddict_ for help and suggestions with the completed version.**

In Your Hands

Chapter 1

White thunder in his ears. White lightning scintillations across his vision. Implosions of brilliant, blinding, burning white behind his eyes that suck him in and pull him down and down and down with the sound of velocity hurtling through his brain. The force of gravity slams his eyelids closed as he feels the blood vessels under his skin swelling and breaking. The fall is unstoppable, unending, eternal. Down and down, forever and ever and ever as his existence shrinks to only the sensation of falling and falling and falling…

His eyes jerk open.

He looks around, nostrils flaring as he tries to suck in breaths faster than his lungs can manage. His hand gropes about as he blinks, struggling to focus, until he realises he is lying in the middle of the corridor of the lab, in a part of the building that he passes along every day, more familiar to him than his own apartment. Gasping, he tries to re-orientate himself. The last thing he remembers is air giving way beneath him and plummeting towards a void.

Now here he is lying in the corridor of the lab, feeling cold underneath him and the slightly grainy texture of the flooring beneath his palms.

Mac raises himself on his elbows and lifts a hand, palm up. A piece of grit, he sees as he studies it, turning it side to side, is embedded in the soft flesh. He scrapes it away with his nail and stares at the small, red indentation left there. For a moment, there is a flash of another hand clutching his, and a face looming above his own. Then it is gone, and he is where he has found himself.

Alone.

Turning his head in all directions, it is clear there is not a soul in sight. Uneasiness grows inside him. Unless something is wrong, there should never be such solitude in the lab. Usually, there is the sound of humanity there, some sound and sign of the lives of those who work alongside him. The silence continues and apprehension starts to gnaw at his gut, leaving freezing gaps throughout him. He has to find out what is wrong. It is _his_ lab. _His_ team who work there. If something _is_ wrong, he needs to find out.

Slowly, he pushes himself up off the floor, pressing his hands down at his side. As he does so, he feels a twinge in the muscles of his back, and a stiffness in his arms; a feeling as if someone has been pulling them. The hand again appears in his mind, and the face; a mouth open, eyes above his, wide and terrified.

It unsteadies him, and he feels his legs wobble. There is something he should remember, he knows, something important that is holding on by its fingernails to the edge of his memory, but even as he reaches to grasp it, it slips and falls into oblivion. A sudden rush of dizziness threatens to topple him, but before he can fall, more by instinct than anything, he lurches towards the wall and collapses against it, breathing heavily. Struggling to remember.

No answers come though, and neither does anyone else. The silence grows and swells and presses against his chest, cutting out the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat. Even the sound of his watch ticking has stopped. Mac closes his eyes and breathes.

_Keep breathing. Keep breathing… _

Then he is falling again, falling, the ground giving way beneath him, giving way to a swallowing void. Ragged breaths jerk out of his lips as he is surrounded by fog that solidifies into clammy sheets of white, wrapping wetly round him, sucking knowledge from him, blanking what has happened.

But_ something_ has happened, and Detective Mac Taylor is going to discover what it is. Emboldened by the affirmation of who he is, and the certainty that even with all the uncertainty he is feeling now, he knows at least that he does not like unsolved mysteries. He knows as well who he wants to find, who will help him discover the truth.

Stella.

Mac takes a step forward away from the wall, then he teeters again as his legs weaken, and he crashes to his knees. The pain jars every bone and makes his teeth incise his tongue. There is blood, warm and metallic in his mouth. More blood. He knows there has been blood, splashed on him, and on the hand that grasped for his…

His head spins and his own blood thuds through his veins as his eyes close, and his neck feels too weak to support the weight of his head. He is slipping, falling, nothing waiting below for him, only fear and pain and nothing. Nothing…

"Mac!"

Relief opens his eyes at the sound of the voice; one that radiates calm and reassurance, pouring oil on troubles. A hand touches his shoulder, "Hey, Mac, everything all right?"

His own voice surprises him as it comes rumbling from his throat, sounding far rougher and grittier than he has expected it to, "I don't… know."

The Doctor's hand leaves his shoulder, and the tone of his voice changes from concern to curiosity.

"What are you doing here?"

Mac looks up then, vision clearing suddenly, feeling creepers of fear wrapping and tightening around his heart, "What do you mean?" He pulls himself back to his feet, still leaning against the wall, swaying a little as something in Hawkes's question sends a jolt of adrenaline through his nerves, "Why wouldn't I be here? I work here!"

A small smile appears on the other man's lips, "Of course you do." He pats his arm, and Mac looks down at his hand, then back at his face as he continues, "Just wasn't expecting to see you, after, well, after what happened. We thought this was probably the last place you'd want to be, you know…"

Mac pushes himself away from the wall, ignoring the shaking of his legs and arms, and glares at the other man, "Why would I not want to be here, and after what? _What_ happened? What's going on, Sheldon?"

Fear boils up and over into anger as the response he receives is a pitying smile and another pat on the arm, "It's fine, Mac. It's natural to feel like this - anger, denial, grief. I understand, we all do, and we know how much this place meant to you - _means_ to you, even now." He pauses, and then shrugs lightly, "But you made the decision. Anyhow, I got to go, Sid's got some results for me. Good to see you again."

With a nod, he strolls off down the corridor, even as Mac struggles to form the questions that are popping inside his head; but his mouth moves uselessly, his tongue and lips refusing to cooperate.

"Hawkes! Wait!" He manages to choke out, but it is too late, the other man is gone and he is left alone with only the silence of the corridor that rings in his ears. He slumps back against the wall, feeling the chill through his shirt. Then the blankness begins to creep back into his mind, pervading, smothering, soft. With his limbs suddenly boneless, Mac slides down the wall like a rag doll.

_Need to find Stella. Stella will know. Stella…_

"Boss! Hey! Uh, good to see you here, wasn't thinking we'd be seeing much of you anymore."

Two sneakered feet stand in front of him, and Mac raises his eyes to look up legs clad in jeans, past a slightly grubby lab coat and into Adam's smiling face, "You here for any reason? Or just checking up on us?" Then the smile shrinks and his hand twitches through his hair, "Sorry, I, uh, you know, didn't mean to kind of make a joke of it, I know you're still, you know, getting used to everything, after what… Must be kind of strange I guess?"

Anger and fear pushes Mac to his feet, "After what happened, yes, so Hawkes said, but I still don't know _what_ happened, so are you going to fill me in, or are you just going to stand there looking at me?"

Adam merely shifts from foot to foot and looks uneasy, and something in Mac snaps as he grabs the younger man's shoulders, "What the hell is this, Adam?"

But the lab technician tears away from him with a hard look set into his face, "You can't go ordering me around any more, not after what you did. This wasn't any of our fault, it was _your_ fault, and _we're_ the ones still left living with the consequences!"

"_Of what?_" Mac roars, and his stomach clenches and roils, the bitter taste of bile clawing at the back of his throat, "Consequences of _what? _Why isn't anyone willing to give me a straight answer? What the hell is wrong with you all?"

Adam shakes his head and backs away, "You ought to know the reason for that, Boss. It's not up to me to tell you."

Then he takes off, feet smacking against the floor as he runs, and Mac feels limpness washing over him again. It isn't going to defeat him though, he needs answers, he needs reasons, and he needs Stella. He needs to find her, because she always has the answers. Even if they aren't always what he wants to hear. For some reason, although that thought usually makes him smile, this time it frightens him. Something whispered, some memory, some knowledge, that the answer to the situation he is in is one he is not going to like.

But he has to know. He has to ask Stella. He has to _find_ Stella…

Mac totters a couple of steps forward, and takes grim satisfaction from staying upright at least, even if his head feels as if it is full of wet sheets of cotton. He continues, slowly, each step an effort, keeping his hand to the wall as much as he can, trailing his fingers along the glass and the metal. Out of the corners of his eye though, he can see mists; white, but stained crimson at the shredded edges, reaching for him.

And something else too; a second's image of a child running ahead of him, down the corridor, but gone before he can glimpse what they look like.

He stops, breathing hoarsely, and clutches at his chest. His heart is pounding agonisingly, his lungs are burning. Fear. Adrenaline. An image of a hand clutching his, but slipping and slithering out of his grasp, sears his mind. He feels the friction of skin as he realises the contact is breaking and he is falling with a horrifying rush into nothing.

_Nothing_…

"Stella…" He wheezes, and tries to move, but his feet refuse to leave the floor.

He does not hear the light footsteps approaching him until they are in front of him.

"Mac? Are you okay?" A quiet female voice asks, "Hawkes said you were here. Can I help you with anything?"

Lindsay. Brown eyes full of concern, but reservation also. Mac frowns, and sucks a breath in to answer her. She is not the one he wants to see, but maybe she can be persuaded to answer him.

"You can tell me why everyone's questioning me being here." He rasps, "_Clearly_ something's going on, and I want to know what it is."

Fear darts into her eyes and she shifts her gaze from him, back along the corridor, as if looking for the fastest escape, "I don't know, I guess we weren't expecting to see you back here, so soon, after… after…" She falters and stops, pressing her palms together, "I'm sorry, Mac, really, I am, it's just, I don't… don't know what else to say to you! You know I'm not good at this sort of thing, I'm sorry. And… and after what happened, it hit us _all_ hard, you know. Danny especially, he… he feels let down, after what you did." Another quick glance at him, and her eyes drop, "It's hit him hard, Mac, losing more people he loves. Really hard."

Mac presses a shaking hand to his forehead. Clammy. He drags in another breath, and feels each word scraping his throat, "What… what did I do?"

"I'm sorry, Mac. But you should have held on, waited, not been so impulsive. You shouldn't have let go of her. You should have _listened_."

She shakes her head, hurrying backwards along the corridor, feet quick beneath her, "I'm sorry, I can't help you…" Then she whirls round and is gone.

He breathes.

And mist begins to make milky the edge of his vision, and slowly, slowly it creeps and winds round him, wrapping cold, clemmed arms about his chest and throat, blinding his eyes so he stumbles again, his knee hitting the floor.

"Help!" He gasps, and claws at the white air, searching for something to hold on to. _Someone_ to hold on to; the owner of the hand that he remembers grasping his, "_Stella_…"

It is not her hand that grips his though. Instead, a small hand, warm and soft, but with unexpected strength, tugs him to his feet and pulls away the choking mist from around him, and for a moment he glimpses the laughing face of a child. A child with eyes that mirror his. Blue and grey and all the shades in between as they catch sunlight that is invisible to him. But then they are gone, and his hand is empty. The corridor is empty and silent except for the murmur of electricity and air conditioning. The life of the building, its pulse.

_His_ building. _His_ pulse. _His_ life.

Folding his body almost in half, he drops his hands to his knees, and heaves oxygen into his lungs again. On impulse, he yanks his shirt sleeve back and with shaking fingers, feels for a pulse against the pale skin of his wrist. For a moment, he can feel nothing, but then, ebbing below the surface, is a thread of life. Faint and slow, unusually so, but there. Just.

He breathes in and out and in, relieved, but with an intensity of relief that troubles him; because why would his pulse not be there? Before he can even begin delving for answers to that question, he feels a sudden plummet in temperature, and raises his head. On the glass wall in front of him, he sees a cloud of condensation, a pearly white shimmer, expanding outwards as he breathes, obscuring his face. With the intention of wiping it away, his hand stretches towards it, but before he can touch it, something appears in the middle of it. Writing. An unseen hand that forms wobbling, finger-written letters that spell out four words.

_Hold on to me._

To what? To who? _How?_

"Mac!"

Another voice, another familiar voice, but still not the one he is convinced he needs to find. Sid materialises, clapping him on the shoulder, "Good to see you, we've had quite the time without you." His eyes are invisible behind his glasses, and his hand stays on Mac, "Without you both. Still can't believe what happened…" He clears his throat, "How are you? You've come to see us all, see how we're doing after everything?"

"I'm trying to find Stella." Mac replies hoarsely, "Can't… can't seem to find her… You know where she is?"

Thin fingers tighten round his shoulder, digging into the skin and muscles and a frown lowers onto the ME's face, "Stella? It's a little too late to be looking for her now, don't you think? Don't you remember what happened?"

"_No!_" fury and fear explode from him, "No I don't remember what happened, and no one's telling me a damn thing! Enough with the cryptic clues, just tell me what's going on! Why are you all so surprised to see me here?"

"If you don't know, then I can't tell you that, Mac. I wish I could, really I do, but that's not my job. I've done all I had to do after the event." He shakes his head, and unfastens his glasses, and Mac has the first look into his eyes. He sees regret, and sadness, and then curiosity.

There is a pause, and then Sid replaces his glasses, hiding his eyes again, "You know, Mac, there might be something you can do for me though." Without waiting for a response, he plunges on, "I've always wanted to know, well I expect everyone does, everyone who wonders about these things anyway, but what is it really like? What happens after this life?"

"_This life?_ What is this, Sid? What in hell are you talking about? Why are you asking _me_ questions? I'm the one looking for answers here, and Stella! You can tell me that at least!"

Sid blinks, "You should have held on to her, you know. But you didn't. You let your impulses take over. You didn't think, you let go - of her, and of yourself, and that's why you're here now." He starts to move away from him, walking backwards down the corridor, "Once that happens, once you let go, then there's no turning back. Certainly not from death."

"What do you mean?" Mac chokes, and feels his heart turn glacier-cold, as tendrils of ice force their way through it, trying to seize its rhythm, "What in _hell_ do you mean? I'm not dead! I'm here, talking to you, right now, in the lab! _My lab!_" White mists swirls and wisps across his vision; billions of droplets of ice cold invading his pores.

Shadows fall over Sid's face, but do not hide the sorrow on his features as he shakes his head, "I'm sorry Mac, truly I am. I wish there was more I could do. But it's down to you now. If there's any chance for you, for either of you, it has to be _you_ that takes it."

"Sid! Wait! Please…" He tries to lift his feet to move after the rapidly vanishing figure, as it begins obscuring into the twilight at the end of the corridor, but he cannot move. His feet will not take him that way and he finds his legs buckling as he sinks to the floor again.

Alone.

Each breath is becoming a gargantuan effort, and each beat of his heart booms in his head; so loud he can count each one. They come too slowly and ring in his ears like a funeral knell. He counts them, and counts the breaths that pass in and out between his lips, each one making a rushing sound. The same sound the air makes hurtling past his ears in the memory of falling. Gasping, the pressure on his chest tightens suddenly to an unbearable level, the mists coil round him and Mac feels his fingers twitch as his body convulses, and he struggles to breathe. Blood pounds in his ears and pulses in his eyes. Red mists billow round him…

"_Help!_"He gasps almost inaudibly, breath crowing in his throat "Please, help me…"

Through his darkening, blood-filled vision, there is a hand again, with fingers that are cloud-soft, stroking his cheek. The fog evaporates, and he forces his eyes open, seeing again the young eyes that have looked into his before. The eyes that hold his own and smile at him with a look of curiosity.

He reaches for the little hand and grasps warm, chubby fingers that wrap around his tightly. The eyes crinkle in delight and he sees for the first time the rest of the child's face; steel and sky-blue eyes, skin with a hint of olive, and dark ringlets of hair that frame her face. Her head is tilted to one side as she gazes at him, and he sees she is sitting cross legged on the floor in front of him.

Once more, her hand tugs his, insistent, and he is pulled up off the floor. Some of his strength returns as his muscles feel a release from the weakness that has imprisoned them. Staggering to his feet, Mac holds onto to the little girl's hand and looks down at her in fascination as he leans against the wall and heaves his breath in.

Breaking away from their contact, the child claps her hands gleefully, her face beaming before she twirls round and runs down the corridor away from him.

"Wait!" Mac calls, starting forward in panic, his hand reaching for her, "Please! Wait for me…"

But with legs that have lost their usual strength, he can only manage to hobble forward. His hand closes round empty air, and she vanishes out of sight. Leaving him alone. All alone.

_Hold on to me._

**So what has happened to Mac? Much mystery, so I hope you're intrigued enough to read on and discover the answers! Reviews very welcome, second and final chapter up soon, as well as the next chapter of 'Old West'. Thank you very much to everyone who has nominated me and my stories for the Fan Fiction Awards, it's much appreciated :D Lily x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**** I own very little, especially not CSI NY**

**Author**** Lily Moonlight**

**Notes**** Second and final chapter. Thank you very much for all alerts and favourites; to everyone who reviewed - please continue, or add one if you've enjoyed this; to ****_cmaddict_ for help with this chapter; and to _Blue Shadowdancer _for chats, episodes and icons! **

**Thank you very much to everyone who's nominated my stories and me in the fan fic awards, I'm really honoured; voting is now on for all your favourite authors and stories!  
**

In Your Hands

Chapter 2

Aware of the lights dimming above him, and the sudden chill as he travels further down the corridor, Mac shivers and keeps moving. No one else passes him. He glances into rooms either side, seeing only thick darkness and the haggard negative of his reflection. His face, composed of caverns and shadows, stares back and forces him to look away. He carries on, picking up speed as his movement pushes blood back painfully into his muscles.

The face of the little girl, her eyes and features, fill his mind. And he realises suddenly, with a feeling that warms through him, easing some of his ache, that he recognises her. He knows where he has seen her features before. He knows who shares them, and he begins to wonder and hope at the patterns and design that lie behind her formation. As he does so, he sees another face in his mind. A face whose features he loves and longs to trace his fingertips over. Questions form, and answers dance at the edges of his mind, just out of reach. Answers…

Stella.

She always has answers for him, but he still needs to find her to find them. Giving him the spurt he needs, her face becomes clearer in his mind, and he rounds a bend in the corridor. Where the shadowing lights flitter across the glass walls, he sees at last a door and a room he recognises. His office; his sanctuary. As he gets closer, however, he sees it is occupied, and his first thought is anger at the invasion. But a few steps further, and he sees that it is occupied by the only person who is not an invader of his peace.

"_Stella!" _

He stumbles in his rush of relief, and his palm hits the glass, stinging his flesh as he almost falls through the door.

She sits at his desk, in his chair, and he sees his pen in her hand. As she looks up, it slips out of her fingers, falls and hits the floor.

Her lips thin into a dark line, and relief curdles in the pit of his stomach, "What are you doing here?" She says, cold, unwelcoming, "This isn't your place anymore, Mac."

Mouth falling open, he gapes at her. Her eyes are hard and stare unblinking at him, making his skin crawl in fear. Bending down, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, she picks up the pen and starts to tap it against her fingers. The movement draws his eyes.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down and down and down…

Until he shakes his head to clear his vision.

"Stella, I…" He lurches towards her and stops.

"What do you want?"

The pen twirls in her hand.

"Something's wrong, and I need to know…"

"What do you need to know, Mac?"

The air starts to thunder through his head again as she hits back everything he says, her expression impassive.

He persists, "Whatever _you_ know. Please…"

Another step towards her, and he stops, sensing a precipice between them.

Her eyes are chips of stone, "I can't tell you anything anymore. It's too late. You made the decision; you chose to let go, and I suffered the consequences. All of us did."

All the strength he has gained begins to leak out of him again and his legs tremble. Feeling himself starting to lose his balance, he grabs hold of the desk with both hands, and his head drops for a moment, until he forces himself to look up and back into her stony eyes.

"Stell, please. I've… I've been trying to find you. Please just talk to me, answer me, I can't get answers from anyone else…"

She tilts her head on one side and regards him carefully. The pen stills in her hands.

Her voice, when she speaks, is softer, "Sometimes I don't have all the answers, Mac. Sometimes _you_ do."

He shakes his head, "Not this time. Just… tell me… what you know. Please. What's going on? Why's everyone's acting the way they are? As if I shouldn't be here, as if I've done something… What did I _do?_"

"You mean you can't work it out?" The softness is gone, and he hears bitterness in her tone that is poison to his ears, "Come on. This isn't like you. Surely you've realised?"

"Realised _what? _I can't… Can't…"

His voice dies, slaughtered by the sudden rush of air past his ears. It rises to a deafening pitch, and there is pain in his arms now; agonising pain that feels like his muscles are being ripped out of his skin. As Stella stares at him, her hands clench together, and the pen snaps in her fingers.

"You let go, and you're dead."

Condemnation resonates in the air.

"_No_…" Breath rushes out of him, lost in horror, "I'm not dead! _No!_" His head shakes in denial. No. Impossible. _No!_

Freezing mist rises round him now, scalding him with a cold-fire touch and his eyes sting and burn. The solidity of the floor beneath him begins to wobble and he almost loses his footing, his feet scrabbling against nothing. A fog-filled crevasse appears as the floor splits and opens in front of him, and tendrils writhe up from its depths, reaching for him. Mac groans in fear, and tries to find his footing to drag himself back to safety, his feet scrabbling against nothing. But there is nothing solid beneath him anymore, he realises with a quake of terror, and nothing real or solid around him either.

"What's… happening?" He fights for breath as the scene starts to evaporate.

His surroundings, the comforting familiarity of his office disappears rapidly, swallowed up by murk and mizzle. Looking up, he sees the only reality he has to hold onto is Stella. And, with his heart plummeting, he realises that he is losing his grip on even his strongest anchor to life, as her image starts to blur before his eyes. His vision smears as fog-phantoms hover round him and start to creep closer. Closer, silent, unstoppable. They reach for him, wrapping white, insubstantial hands round him; blinding him, grasping him, pulling him. Famishing for his life.

"_Please help me…_" It is a whisper, he barely hears his own words.

A glimpse, one glimpse of Stella's face, before weariness drags his head down, and he loses sight of her again. He is tired, _so_ tired, and every muscle in his body is beginning to seize in pain. It would be so easy to let go.

_So_ easy…

Thick fog drifts into his mind now, easing him, loosening his hold. Exhaustion deadens his thoughts and he waits for the inevitable.

For the fall.

Down and down and down…

Until Stella's voice sounds again, so far away, but he knows he has to listen.

Because his life depends on it.

"I'm trying to help you, Mac!" Her voice is rising, but he struggles to hear her, fighting off the muting white noise, "But you've got to help as well!"

With a mighty effort, he tenses and pulls up the muscles of his neck to lift his head. Above him, he sees Stella's eyes wide and glittering with fear; green surrounded by white. There seems to be no colour left in her skin; it glistens pale and it frightens him. Mist sways and surrounds him, more ghosts ripple into existence, erasing the edges of his vision.

His fingers clutch the edge of something, but even as he senses the surface, his fingertips begin to slip and slide off the edge, making him lose his balance, so he wobbles and begins to tumble backwards. Slowly, so slowly, but so certainly.

Down and down and down…

His throat fills with air, too full of breaths that he has gulped in. Thick, white breaths of fear that choke his throat. His hands claw for something and someone to hold onto.

"Listen to me!" Stella cries, and he can barely see anything now; all there is are her eyes stark against her skin, and her dark curls tossing wildly about her face. The vision of his office finally tatters to threads and blow away. As if it was never there, as if he was never there. Leaving him in a cocoon of clouds and mist and air. It would the simplest thing to succumb to it. So simple to let go of cares and pain and life. A breath sighs out of his lips, and his eyes close. It would be easy to let go of the faint touch on his fingers; to let go of the voice calling from far away; to let go of his life…

"_Mac!_" The cry rings in his ears, scything through the white cotton that seems to have been stuffed inside his head, "Don't you dare let go! Don't you _dare! _Hold on to me!"

His eyes jerk open.

For real this time, as Stella's voice wakes him from the nightmare seconds of lost consciousness. He looks up and up into her face above him, and sees her mouth forming the words that are sinking slowly into his brain. He feels her hand wrapped round his.

"I've got you!" As reality re-establishes itself and the last vestiges of his unconscious disappear, he realises that he is hanging off a ledge above the city.

And her hand is the only thing stopping him from falling into a sea of mist, rain and traffic hundreds of feet below.

_You let go, you're dead…_

He looks up, blinking at her through the rain that stings his eyes and slithers down his face. Each drop is a needle prick to his skin, and he feels it piercing and soaking his clothes, weighing him down even more. Pulling him down. A long, long way down.

Piecing his consciousness back together in a rush, he twines his fingers as tightly as he can with Stella's. He won't let go. But their hands are cold, numbing fast, and wet with rain. Not only rain, he sees with fear. Rivulets of watered red are streaming down her arm. Blood. From the deep gash sliced open in the top of her arm.

He knows what has happened now.

He knows, only minutes before, how they chased the suspect to the top of a an apartment block, and how Stella pushed in front of him as the man grabbed a discarded bottle as a weapon, smashed it and lunged for them.

He knows it was Stella's yell of pain and the blood gushing down her arm that flooded his brain with fury and sent him running after the man. All the way to the edge of the roof, where a brief struggle sent him, arms flailing, over the edge and sent the suspect crashing back against the crumpled railings, weapon falling from his unconscious hand.

He knows how seconds of eternity passed whilst he pivoted and felt for one brief moment the air against his back before he fell.

He knows his hands caught the ledge, and then started to slip, because the gritty stone that scraped his palms was greased with rain. Making his hands slither over them whilst his eyes widened, as he knew instantly he was going to fall into forever, taking every last memory of his life with him, and that his last sight would be the woman above him with rain-soaked curls, throwing herself forward and grabbing his hand nanoseconds before he lost all touch with the living world.

He knows all this, because she has caught him and held on, even as he lost consciousness for vital moments and became a dead weight. Even though he knows she is in more pain than she will say, and the wound in her arm is draining the colour from her skin as she holds onto him for dear life.

He knows that were it not for her, he would have fallen with the rain, all the way to the ground.

Down and down and down…

He blinks droplets from his lashes, as the rain still falls on his face and their clinging hands. Rain that runs red down their joined arms. Blood and water mingle and flows over their hands, making oily their skin, slipping between their fingers treacherously. Causing skin to slide over skin. Causing hands to lose their grip…

"_Don't let go!_" A glass-sharp cry from Stella. Mac blinks more water out of his eyes, seeing her arm trembling and muscles straining under her skin, slickened by rain and blood. His other arm, the one dangling at his side fights against the gravity that pulls it down, and he stretches for the solid ledge of the building.

"I'm… not… going to." He croaks and struggles for a finger-hold. Stella is hanging over the edge, only stopped from falling by her other hand holding on white-knuckled to a broken piece of railing.

He struggles and their hands slide further and further apart; closer and closer to breaking their hold. Her hand tries to move down and clasp his wrist, but her fingers slide up his hand until they are joined only by their fingertips.

A horrified cry escapes from her lips, before her fingers lose his…

And catch them again.

As his left hand slithers out of her hold, his right hand, with strength given to him by the iron of her blood, clamps onto her wrist. In a second, her hand is back round his. Joined again, and he knows that this time he will not let go.

He will _never_ let go.

"I've got you!" It is a gasp from her, "Keep going! You can do this, it's going to be _fine_…"

Ignoring the ragged flesh of his palms, the grit that tears at his skin, and the pain of his muscles he does everything he can to help himself and clutches the ledge with his empty hand.

The other hand keeps hold of his lifeline, and she holds on with every last drop of her strength, whilst he pulls himself up and up, and second by agonising second he gets closer and closer to safety. She inches backwards, her grip on his hand never wavering. Slowly, slowly he hauls himself back up. Up towards life. Until his feet kick against stone and he scrambles for a toe-hold…

And finds it, pushes up from it, and with a desperate rush of air, and stone scraping skin, and muscles screaming in agony, he is there. Safe and sound.

Alive.

He collapses and can do nothing but heave oxygen into his lungs as he lies gasping and shivering on the concrete. Slowly though he becomes aware of the hand that still holds on to his and the woman lying half-underneath him.

So he opens his eyes and looks down at a face framed by dark curls that smiles back at him. It is a smile that wavers and is almost destroyed by a sob, but it is the most beautiful thing he has seen. For moments more they lie there and the rain falls on them and drips off their hair and clothes onto each other and he knows that neither of them care because they are together. They are alive and he is holding onto her; onto the woman who holds onto his life.

"Thank you…"

She stills his lips, as her fingers caress the cold skin of his face, warming and reviving him, and he finds his hand in her hair, running through the wet ringlets, as his eyes lose themselves in her gaze. And he remembers again for the briefest instance the other face he saw in those lost moments of time as his life was held only by Stella's fingertips; the face of a child with her father's eyes and her mother's gaze.

But the glimpse of the future disintegrates as the rain falls in the present and the voices and running footsteps of their back-up finally arriving ring in his ears. And as they come shouting towards them, he looks down and sees spreading beneath him a pool of blood and water; her blood. It makes his own run cold, as cold as her skin under his fingers is.

One hand tightens his grip on hers, and the other cups her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, as her eyelids begin to look heavy, "Don't go anywhere, Stell. Hold on, just hold on."

She smiles as rain drips off her lashes, "Not going anywhere, I'm not letting go."

People appear at the edge of his vision, shouting, speaking, touching them both. He wraps his hand round her arm, trying to stop the life streaming out of it. Flack crouches in front of him, guiding him to his feet, whilst Danny bends over Stella, helping her to sit up as his hands also try to stop her bleeding. But the rain still falls and more of her life washes into the drains and gutters of the city and disappears. All Mac can do is hold her hand, and keep holding on, willing her to do the same.

_Hold on to me._

The words he saw, the writing on the wall, written by a child. They ring in his mind as the suspect is hauled to his feet and taken away, people cluster round them, and they stand there dazed and shaken.

_Hold on to me._

Accompanied by Flack and Danny, they keep their arms round each other as they both walk on wobbling legs to the elevator and descend through the building. As they reach the sidewalk, his arm tightens in fear as she sways in his hold. But after a pause, a deep breath, and a quick smile into his eyes, she walks on beside him.

_Hold on to me._

Sitting beside her on the back steps of the ambulance, his arm stays round her waist, and he grips her hand as her injury is treated. Finally the rain runs clear again down their arms as her hand squeezes his with strength that restores him.

And she holds on to him, all the way to her apartment, and all the way through her door and into the living room where they stop and stand and stare. Water drips and pools at their feet. They breathe

Alive.

Fingertips brush each other's palms, contact never ceasing, and they see the fear in each other for their lives that were almost lost. Rain-soaked skin shivers in the air before in a rush of heat and need to feel the reality of each other and the assurance that they are alive, their lips and hands meet and touch and join. They breathe, fast, urgent, together; wet clothes fall to the ground; skin warms against skin. And they hold on and on to one another.

………………………………............................

Not a hint of rain is in the blue acres of sky as they walk through the park hand in hand. Warm June air breezes round them, and the sun gilds the hair of the little girl who skips between her mother and father. Just beyond them, the city traffic roars along its streets, but Mac hears and sees only his family as Stella twirls their daughter round in a pirouette, and laughs at the little girl's gurgles of delight.

His hand moves to Stella's shoulder, drawing her closer to him, unable to prevent his fingers running lightly over the fine white line left on her skin. It still haunts him. On days when rain saturates the streets and the sky bleeds grey water, his eyes see the chasm that opened up in front of him that day almost four years ago. He still sees the blood that mingled with the rain and the void that would have claimed him.

If she had not held on.

Even as he turns and smiles at Stella, and sees the glowing colour of her skin and eyes, he still sees what was almost lost. And he knows she sees the same. He remembers, as he often does, the moments of the dream he had in those seconds of unconsciousness; the visions and words he saw; how he told her about them that night as they lay in each others embrace, listening to the rain and their beating hearts.

_Hold on to me…_

He remembers the little girl in his dream, and sees her now, exactly as she was then, and his heart lifts at her existence. _Their_ little girl. Skipping at his side with curls bouncing on her shoulders and sunlight shining in her eyes, she points at a butterfly, watching its flight in fascination. She pulls away from his hand and chases it round and along and onwards. On down the path. And Mac watches her; smiling, wondering and marvelling.

Until his mind sees seconds ahead, and he sees the path and he sees the street at the end of it. The busy street with the traffic that will not see a little girl, a little life. And as the knowledge detonates in his brain, he begins to run towards his daughter as she dances along the path, oblivious to any danger. He hears Stella's exclamation, and knows she is too far behind this time. But he is not, because it is his turn today, and with one last, long stride, as his daughter teeters at the very edge of the kerb, he lunges forward. His hand closes round her tiny one with a shout of desperate relief. Holding on, he swoops her up and presses her to his chest, soothing her frightened sobs as Stella clutches them both to her.

With their hearts beating next to his, he knows there is nothing more important than holding on to them. The lives he loves and that are the reason for his.

**I hope this chapter answered all questions satisfactorily :D ****Did you enjoy it? ****Please review and tell me what you thought, I'd love to know! Thank you, Lily x**


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